


Jerza Week 2016

by wordslinger



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, jerza - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My submissions for the Jerza Week 2016 prompts on tumblr. All are in the same canon!verse and in no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Day 1: Embrace**

* * *

 

His favorite part of coming home isn't the softness of their bed, or the inviting sofa cushions, or the hot food. Proper baths are nice, as is sleeping in long past sunrise the following morning. Casual clothes and the freedom to go without shoes on plush carpet are luxuries former versions of himself could only dream about. But none of those things are his _absolute favorite_.

Their house sits on the edge of town. Somewhat isolated but close enough to civilization to be convenient. On his more indulgent days he wonders if there'll ever be little voices to greet him whenever he makes his way up the path toward the front door. Will they shriek in excitement and hang off his arms with an eagerness for hugs and stories? He suspects Erza has a checklist of milestones in her head – even though they've skipped over more than a few already to make up for lost time. They aren't _trying_ to have any babies... but they aren't exactly trying _not_ to either.

He leaves his boots and cloak in the front hall and inhales the scent of home. The aroma wafting from the kitchen smells new. Erza's culinary efforts are a work in progress. Jellal opts to bathe before seeking her out. He's spent enough time presenting himself to her in a more or less disheveled state and now prefers to please her gaze. She knows he's returned and will wait.

Jellal never feels older than the moment he steps from the bath. Once he is up and out of the water, and gravity takes hold again, his joints drive the point home mercilessly. Thirty is a cruel age.

Clothed in clean, softer things he makes his way to the kitchen. He finds Erza leaning against the countertop with a recipe book in her hand. Light from the setting sun spills through the window and turns her hair an even more brilliant scarlet than normal. The thin material of her nightgown clings to her hips and he wonders what in the world he's done to possibly deserve such perfection.

His hands slide over her shoulders and she sets the recipe book aside. Her smile is brighter than anything he has ever seen. She stretches up to place a kiss on his jaw and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Welcome home,” she whispers. _This_ is his favorite.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 2: Tattoo**

* * *

 

The first day he spends at home is always somewhat quiet – but only in the sense that they are alone and undisturbed. He still isn't quite used to seeing himself in a mirror every morning, or afternoon, or anytime he likes, really. Sometimes he wonders at the marking on his face. Memories of who he was before the Tower, before Erza, before Ultear, before _everything_ are hazy. He thinks maybe he remembered at one point but not anymore. Now it feels unimportant.

When Erza catches him staring at his own reflection she touches his cheeks and directs his gaze downward. There he finds her smiling. Her fingers brush the thickest lines of the mark before she kisses the V at the apple of his cheek. That is the only purpose of the tattoo now. In his mind it marks him as hers.

Erza has no defining marks. Her scars don't stand out angrily on her skin. They are, instead, silvery lines gracefully swooping and arching across her back and arms like the downy barbs of a feather. He knows them all now. The design is more complicated than any collection of stars he holds in his hands.

Even though they are temporary – Jellal knows the bruises will fade in a day or two – he makes his own marks. The soft swell of skin on the inside of her thigh is perfect and rises into his mouth easily. The jut of her hip is harder to manage but he visits the spot when he feels most determined. The underside of her right breast is perhaps his favorite. Erza's favorite, however, is the sensitive curve of her neck. His lips pull at her and when she gasps and shudders he knows that she is his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 3: Love**

* * *

 

He's never considered himself an analytical person, though, he supposes it's true. More than once he's found his way out of a sticky situation by using his brain first and brute magical force second. It doesn't escape him that he's also very good at galvanizing and earning – if not trust – the respect of those around him.

For years he's been compiling, calculating, collating, and collecting. His mind has never stopped... until now.

 _Now_ he sleeps late, and stretches out on his back as he draws fingers that have committed great evils through the scarlet hair that still captivates him even though it has been _so long_. Can darkness as thick as his be diluted with a bright enough light? He still isn't sure but he has done all he can and doesn't have it in him to stay away any longer. The way she smiles at him is enough. Everything else... _well._

Erza is a clingy sleeper. She is always touching him and he isn't accustomed to it yet. He thinks maybe she clutches at him in her sleep because she is afraid he won't be there when she wakes. His new mission is to always be at her side in the morning.

She tells him she loves him with every breath. Erza has always given him the space he needs to grapple with himself. Now there is no quarter. And he will not ask for it. There are no more barriers between them and he welcomes the way she slips through his gates. They mingle and mix and merge until he can no longer imagine life without her.

He loves her more than anything in the world. And he is no longer afraid of what that means.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 4: Haunted**

* * *

 

He doesn't like the ocean. The waves lap at his toes as his feet sink into the sand. He thinks maybe if he stands in one place long enough he will sink even further and be buried.

One part of his mind tells him the water cleanses. All things can be made clean by washing the dirt away. He knows this isn't true. He remembers bathing in this very same body of water as a child. The salt left a film on his skin that has taken years to scrub away.

A smaller, more sinister voice tells him there is an island – just beyond his sight – that still sits untouched. The rubble remains. Waves reach for him one after another bringing tiny shards of crystal to scrape at his skin.

“Why do you come here?” she asks from behind him and to the left. Her hand closes around his arm and she pulls.

“There's a haunted pile of nothing out there,” he says. The waves eat his words but he knows she doesn't need to hear them. He's said them before. “I made it myself.”

“Why do you tell yourself such lies?” she whispers in his ear. Her breath is hot and contrasts the cold air that rolls in from the water. “Let's go home.”

She tugs him again and the sand encasing his feet squelches in protest when he turns to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 5: Home**

* * *

 

“You've turned into a homebody, Jellal,” Meredy teases. She checks on him when he spends long periods of time away from the guild.

“If that means I prefer to be at home, then I guess I'm a homebody,” he says placing another neatly folded square on the stack.

“Are you happy?” she asks picking through the pile of freshly laundered clothing.

“I am.” He sets the stack of ten folded squares aside and starts a new one. “Are you?”

“Yes. Everything feels brighter.”

“That's what wanted for you.” Jellal glances at Meredy who's still eyeing the pile of laundry wistfully.

“I know. I also know things couldn't be any different than they are now. I'm okay with that.” She suddenly smirks and tosses a green set of footie pajamas in his face. “You realize you're about six months too early to be worried about properly laundering these, right?”

“Erza likes to be prepared, and I don't mind doing it,” he huffs.

“You're such a house husband,” she laughs tossing her pink ponytail over one shoulder.

He smiles and deposits an armful of cloth diapers in her lap. “You could help me, you know. Since you're here.”

When she places the last diaper on the folded stack, she sighs. “Thank you,” Meredy says quietly.

“For what?”

“For a lot of things. Ultear gave me a purpose and a family in herself. I stayed with you after she... left and now I have a home.” She smiles. “And so do you.”

“You don't owe me anything –”

“Just shut up and let me thank you!” Meredy pokes him in the arm and follows him to a room already filled with new furniture. She fills the empty dresser drawers with things she can't ever remember having. It amuses her to tease Jellal but in truth she knows exactly how he feels.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 6: Warmth**

* * *

 

He decides the downy fluff is his _second_ favorite thing to run his fingers though. The purring ball on his chest opens and closes her eyes slowly. She readjusts and tucks her legs under her. Jellal smiles. He can still feel her ribs along the sides of her body but supposes weight will come in time.

The still aggressively purring kitten suddenly stretches and hooks her razor sharp claws in the shoulder seam of his shirt. He cringes a little and Erza laughs.

“She's not all fluff, you know,” she teases.

“She'll learn to control her sharp bits eventually.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Erza joins him on the couch and settles under his free arm. “We can't call her New Cat forever.”

Jellal traces the shape of the spots on her back. “How about Turtle? Her fur looks like a shell pattern.”

Erza laughs and kisses his shoulder. “She's yours to name as you please but I think I'll insist on having a say in baby names.”

“Is that something we'll need to think about in the coming months?” he asks absently. He doesn't want her to know he's thought of that, as well.

“No, not yet.” She sighs and touches the delicate point of Turtle's ear. Erza brings her knees against her chest and cants her body toward him further. Jellal smiles and turns to place a kiss on the crown of her head. His heart is filled with a warmth that has nothing to do with the rumbling ball of fur on his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped over "Day 7: Scarlet Sky" because it's more of a visual prompt and I'm not an artist. I only bang out words as best as I can with my fists and hope it ends up okay.
> 
> This is yet ANOTHER Marvel crossover. I can't explain why I like these so much because my brain doesn't always tell me why I like things. It's usually just me sobbing over midnight cheese I know will make me sick all as I internally scream at myself WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS???
> 
> Anyway! I've done a Daredevil thing. The Netflix version. I don't actually care for Daredevil as the domestic violence scenes pretty much pushed me over the edge of NOPE. Before we watched Fisk beat the shit out of his dad for beating the shit out of his mom, though, there was that lovely interaction between a very-much-done-with-Matt's-shit Claire, and a sarcastic-and-injured Matt. Jellal was blind for about five minutes in the manga so when I saw the couch scene my shipper heart was screaming JERZA JERZA JERZA (and also CHEESE GIMME CHEESE even though both my heart and brain know I'm sketchy with lactose. Sigh.)
> 
> That's what we have here and nothing more.

**Day 8: Alternate Universe**

* * *

 

Erza swung the garbage bag up and into dumpster. She didn't notice the spatters of blood on the lip of the bin until she stepped back to leave. The sallow pool of street light made the droplets sparkle. Against her better judgement she leaned in for a closer look. It could've been _anything,_ really, and even if it _was_ blood she didn't need to nose her way into something that _clearly_ wasn't her business at all... no. Nope. It was blood. Definitely blood. Her curiosity would be the death of her one day.

She peered into the bin and the obvious form of a man lay amongst the bags and other rubbish. Erza groaned with frustration and took a moment to berate herself for looking at all before balancing on a stack of crates to fish the man out.

He was heavy but lucky for her the bin was almost full and she didn't have to do much more than hoist him over the bloodied lip.

“God you smell awful,” she murmured. Her sweater now had blood on it too and with a frustrated grunt she heaved the man on to her back. The hour was late and even in a crowded building like hers, Erza didn't see another soul on the trek back to her apartment.

The man fell into a heap on the floor when she released her hold. After a quick glance down the hallway, Erza shut and bolted her front door. The last thing she needed were witnesses. It was entirely possible that dragging a bloody man from the dumpster bin and into her home was against building regulations.

She re-situated his body on the floor and began to evaluate his injuries. Thinking better of exposing herself to anything communicable – years in a hospital had taught her to always be cautious when it came to fluids – Erza grabbed her medical bag and yanked on a set of latex gloves. There was an abundance of bruises and cuts that concerned her, including a seeping gash on his torso. Erza removed the... _mask?_ that covered most of his face. He had a prominent tattoo around his right eye. The logic of covering a tattoo on one's face with a black mask seemed ridiculous. She couldn't figure out which would attract _more_ attention – the tattoo or the mask?

Cuts and bruises she could handle but a gash? Nothing spelled out deadly infection like a shoddy stitch job on the living room floor. She wasn't equipped to handle stitches. Erza pulled her phone from her back pocket with the intention of dialing for emergency services. She yelped when a hand shot up and grasped her wrist.

_“No calls!”_ he wheezed and released her arm. “No calls. _Please._ ”

“It's okay,” Erza said still clutching her phone. “I'm just trying to help. We have to get you to the hospital.”

The man winced and grit his teeth in obvious pain. “They'll kill everyone,” he said.

“What? _Who?_ ”

“The men who did this.” he groaned and attempted to roll over. “They'll kill everyone in the hospital to get to me.”

Erza watched with mounting disbelief as he rolled over to lean on one elbow. “Okay... you can't...” She grasped at his arm in an attempt to hold him still. “ _Don't!_ You've lost a lot of blood and I think you might have been stabbed.”

The man ignored her fawning.

“I know.” He struggled to his feet with one hand pressed to the gash in his torso and the other bracing himself against the wall. Erza folded her arms across her chest in irritation.

“If you want to leave the door's the other way.”

He paused and slowly turned back around. His balance was short lived, though, and he fell back to the floor and slipped into unconsciousness.

_“Perfect,”_ Erza mumbled and knelt down to pull him back up. This time she settled him on the couch instead of the floor.

When he woke again he seemed less agitated.

_“_ Are you going to listen to me this time?” she asked with a patronizing tone.

“Where am I?” he asked quickly.

Erza pressed a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “You're in my apartment.”

“Who are you?”

“I'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage,” she offered with a smirk. His hands flew to his face as if just noticing the absence of his mask.

“You've seen my face,” he said with urgency.

“Yeah.”

_“Great.”_

“Your outfit kind of sucks, by the way,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, it's a work in progress –” he attempted to sit up and growled in pain before falling back into the sofa.

“I really wouldn't try and move too much. You've got some broken ribs, _probably_ a concussion, _some kind_ of puncture wound... and that's just the stuff I know about.” She sighed again and sat back on the edge of the coffee table. “And your eyes? They're non-responsive to light and it isn't freaking you the hell out. So either you're blind or in way worse shape than I thought.”

“Do I have to pick one?” His attempt at humor would've made her laugh in any other situation.

“Would you mind telling me how a blind man in a mask ends up beaten half to death in my dumpster?”

He shook his head as much as he could. “The less you know about me the better.”

Erza scowled and threw her hands up in resignation. “The wound on your side –” She peeked through the shreds of his shirt. “Was that a knife?”

“Probably,” he bit out.

“I think I stopped the bleeding but I can't tell how bad it is without a full series of x-rays.”

“ _No._ No hospitals.”

Erza's last thread of patience snapped. “Listen, this is my _night off._ I'm really not looking for some guy to die on my couch.”

“Are you a doctor?”

Erza rolled her eyes. “Something like that.”

“Most people who find a masked man bleeding in the garbage... they call the police.”

“You got a lot of experience in this area?” she shot back.

“Why are you helping me?”

“The less you know about me the better.” It felt good to toss his words back at him.

He chuckled then winced in pain again. “Ow,” he groaned still trying to swallow his laughter. For the second time that evening Erza went against her better judgement and thought him far too attractive. “You got a name at least?” he asked.

She bit her lip and stared down at him. “Erza.” When he didn't respond she blurted, “I don't suppose I get to know yours?”

He hesitated before shaking his head slightly.

“Alright,” she sighed and pulled off the latex gloves. “I'll call you Jake.”

“Jake?” he asked with the ghost of a grin.

“Yeah. He was a guy I used to date. Turns out he was _very_ good at keeping secrets, too.” Erza tossed aside the bloody gloves and startled when he took her hand – more gentle this time and not at all the wild grab from before.

“Thank you, Erza.”

She felt her heart skip a beat and wanted to slap herself. _Why was she like this?_

“Just rest. We'll figure everything out later.”

When the man's eyes slid closed, Erza exhaled heavily and gathered the discarded gloves and bandages with a frustrated force.


End file.
